


Holidays

by agent_florida



Series: All Too Human [4]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Anniversary, Backstory O'Plenty, Birthday, Breaking and Entering, Christmas, HIV/AIDS, Holidays Meme, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Valentine's Day, loosely connected one-shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-12
Updated: 2011-06-27
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:12:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1322797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_florida/pseuds/agent_florida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of holiday one-shots that expand a little more on the All Too Human 'verse.</p><p>ORPHANED @ 4/10</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Theft of the Magi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have no money, no resources, no extraneous possessions to speak of. So when York determines what he wants to get Delta for Christmas, he’ll have to beg, barter, and borrow – for certain definitions of ‘borrow’ that mean ‘steal’.

There’s nothing to get for the kid who already has whatever he needs.  
  
York and Delta’s lifestyle was rather Spartan due to necessity – easier to pick up and move on when there were fewer things to carry. Christmas was coming, though, and with the holiday came the niggling problem of getting Delta a gift. York wanted so badly to give his partner something superfluous, something that was a  _want_  and not a  _need_ , something that wasn’t intrinsically necessary for survival.  
  
The problem was that Delta would probably reject any gift like this, and for the exact reasons why York wanted to give it. As they’d been on the run, he’d gradually shed anything that wasn’t lending directly to his personal survival, which by now meant he had the clothes on his back and the slate computer in his hands.  
  
The slate.  
  
He could do something with that. York wasn’t good with computers, but he knew how much Delta depended on that piece of machinery. It was like an extension of his personality, a place to dump all the information racing through his brain and showcase it in a way that York could understand. More than that, though – it was their last contact with anything relating to the outside world, ever since Delta had jumped the firewalls and jerry-rigged it for Internet capabilities.  
  
The slate served its basic functions well, but York had often caught Delta frowning at the screen, shaking it slightly, or sitting near windows “for better reception”. It wasn’t perfect. And until it was, York had an opportunity to get something that Delta didn’t necessarily require but would certainly appreciate.  
  
They were passing through Germany now. The snow lay on the streets like soft powder, crunching underfoot, and every line of every building was traced with clear sparkling lights. York and Delta had carved out their own little space in the attic of a church that looked abandoned, helping themselves liberally to the cold-weather gear that had been collected to be donated for the benefit of the homeless. Well, they were essentially homeless and very much in need, but York had felt a slight pang of conscience when Delta had knotted a green scarf around his neck. It brought out the color of his eyes, though, and was the only color in his outfit – he had chosen black fingerless gloves, all the better to manipulate his slate with.  
  
Delta was on his cot in their little rafter room, curled into the spot closest to their tiny space heater, his fingertips manipulating his slate. York knew he could stay in that state for hours and not even realize he’d been gone, safe and hidden from the world. Though it would be difficult to be away from him, it was a necessary sacrifice. He could endure the pain in his chest, the tingling in his fingers, the lightheadedness, the paranoia… not for very long, but he could endure if he could focus on the smile he wanted to see on Delta’s face.  
  
He’d been stationed here once, he recalled as he made his way to the city’s American garrison. It seemed like it had happened in a former life, and in a sense, it had. For York, there was life before Delta and life after Delta. Precious few things had remained the same. On the other hand, the installation looked just like he remembered from so long ago. He could only hope that some of his old friends were still here and could give him a few pointers.  
  
And, of course, as those things go, the first person he ran into was Eames. Eames was an old war buddy of his, but more from necessity than any real sense of friendship or common interests. But she greeted York like an old friend. “Naylor! Damn, is it good to see you,” she yelled, shaking York’s hand and pulling him into a slap-on-the-back style of hug.  
  
“You as well.” He could see flashy bits on the front of her uniform. “Got promoted?”  
  
“You betcha. Top administration,” Eames bragged. York didn’t understand it – he had thought Eames’ penchant for pranks would have earned her a dishonorable discharge by now. Her eyes narrowed as she took him in. “The hell happened to your face?”  
  
“Got mugged,” he told her curtly.  
  
“No way. You?” she teased.  
  
“I’d rather not talk about it,” he bit off. His left eye was beginning to hurt, even now – he didn’t have much longer until he’d have to get back to Delta.  
  
“Fine, fine,” she grumbled. “What’re you up to these days? Haven’t seen you since you were moved back Stateside.” She was eyeing York’s uniform, the shabbiness of his borrowed wool hat, the well-worn utility of his messenger bag.  
  
“It’s a long story. Listen, do you have any spare electronic equipment around? My slate’s really taken a beating.”  
  
Eames’ eyes narrowed. Did she suspect York’s ulterior motive? “You’re asking about military parts.”  
  
“Which will be made obsolete once you receive the new models next month,” York pointed out.  
  
It made Eames pause for a moment. York knew she had to remember their excursions together, all the times when York had ever done a break-and-enter. He could almost see the cogs moving in her head as she tried to grind her decision. She could give the parts to York outright, which would mean defying the credibility of her rank; she could tell York where the parts were and trust York with the rest; or she could refuse. Was Delta really rubbing off on him this much, that he could determine the only possible outcomes of this scenario?  
  
Finally Eames huffed, her breath a ghost in the cold winter air. “Remember that room that was just full of broken junk?” York nodded. “It’s been converted to a computer lab. The only way to get to it is through the front door. Security’s tight, but I can pull the guards off your tail.”  
  
Not too hard – he could do it without Delta. “What do I owe you for this?”  
  
“Nothing,” she reassured him. “Think of it as a sign of gratitude that you saved my ass all those times.”  
  
“You’re a good friend,” he said, smiling at her. It quickly faded, though, as he felt the familiar twist in his gut, the shallowness of his breath, the twitch in his hands. “I won’t rat you out,” he reassured her as he turned to leave. “I was never here, and we never had this conversation.”  
  
“What, being chased by MPs?” she called after him, mocking.  
  
“Something like that,” he called back over his shoulder. York hadn’t realized how much he’d endangered her until he could actually hear her laughter. She was so lighthearted, a real charmer, and he’d hate to learn that the Recovery force had done something to her because of him.  
  
York had his information, though, and he’d done it without completely dissolving into panic. It was a small victory, but it was enough. As far as he could tell, no one tailed him back to the church, and when he made his way to the rafters, Delta was already asleep, sitting up and slumped over his slate. York’s heart went a little sideways in his chest at seeing his partner so vulnerable, and he began to regret keeping a secret from him, but he wouldn’t have to hide things for too long.  
  
He reached into Delta’s hands to take the slate away, and it didn’t take much effort to get him into a more comfortable position to sleep. He looked so peaceful like that, so small, his platinum blond hair fanning out in a halo, his long fingers curled into fists. York couldn’t resist the temptation to brush aside his fringe and kiss his forehead gently, but Delta snapped awake at that, clutching at his hand, green eyes glowing with a cat-like luminosity in the dimness. “I was beginning to doubt your intelligence,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse. “Roaming the city at this hour is unwise.”  
  
“I’m not that stupid, Dee. I’ve been here before,” he reminded him.  
  
“Did you acquire any relevant data?” Delta was anxious to plan their next heist, if the plans on his slate were any indication.  
  
“I just did some basic recon,” York lied.  
  
It seemed to satisfy Delta; he put his head back down, pulled his blanket up around his ears, and closed his eyes, immediately lapsing back into sleep. Since he was too panicked to follow up on his lead, York followed suit.  
  
Most of the time leading up to Christmas became a waiting game. Delta would spend most of his time on his slate, but York was too claustrophobic to stay cooped up in that attic for long. They gradually became nocturnal – it was easier for them to hide in darkness, and easier to appreciate the scenery. As the days wore on, Delta even seemed to appreciate the painstaking care that had gone into the decorations here. The city looked ready for a festival, and it seemed so magical to York: the stalls with their handmade crafts, the street vendors with their nuts and cocoa, the display of ice skating in the middle of the square.  
  
Delta had even suggested seeing the city’s solstice fireworks display, and he took full advantage of the obscuring night and the bone-chilling cold to press himself close to York at every opportunity. Delta had even kissed him in public, throwing his arms suddenly around York’s neck and pressing his tongue into his mouth, the tip of his nose cold against York’s cheek. The fireworks in the sky would have never compared to the simple, breathtaking magic of a moment like that. It had taken all of York’s willpower at that point not to lead him back to their hideaway by his scarf and then tie him up with it so they could _really_  fight the cold.  
  
Finally, on Christmas Eve, York knew he couldn’t procrastinate any longer. He had recuperated from his last excursion away from Delta, and his window of opportunity was swiftly closing if he wanted to take advantage of his information. It was too easy to slip away as the sun was going down over Stuttgart, before Delta had a chance to wake and intercept him as he went on his solo mission. He knew the path to the barracks so well he could walk it blindfolded, which came in handy, since the snow was coming down thick and wet around him. Fumbling in his bag, he knew he had everything he needed – and so the real fun began.  
  
It took longer than he expected, but with the help of a list of parts he couldn’t even pronounce, he managed to pack his bag with every possible accessory Delta could ever need. Eames, thankfully, had learned that locked doors never stopped York, only slowed him down; her office was unlocked, which made it easy for him to leave a book on her desk, a small token of gratitude for her help.  
  
The streets were dark and ghostly empty when York made his way back to Delta, and he could feel the paranoia creeping into the back of his mind, choking his throat, making his hands shake. God, he’d gone the whole night so far without having a panic attack – had he finally asked too much of himself? The swirling snow made it easy to get disoriented, dizzying his head, and he didn’t realize how fast he was breathing until the stabbing feeling started in his lungs. He just had to keep moving, had to get back to the church, had to remember that he was doing this for Delta, for that smile on his face, just one more step and he would be that much closer…  
  
Delta intercepted him on the corner of their street. “I am having difficulty categorizing any emotion that would lead you to leave  _alone_. The closest I can calculate is absolute stupidity.”  
  
York hugged him tightly, half-collapsing into his arms. “Stubbornness,” he was able to gasp out, trying to block out his racing thoughts. “Pretty close.”   
  
Delta let out a little groan as York’s full weight hit him, and he staggered for a moment before he could pull York’s arm around his shoulders and support him correctly. “You are quite heavy.” It was stated like a fact, but it was the closest he could get to complaining.  
  
“I’m just glad I made it this far without completely falling apart.” York tried to pull his own weight, stumbling a bit, and time got a little blurry for a few moments before he realized he was back in the rafters. He and Delta fell together onto one of their small cots, and York started to feel the warmth of the space heater cutting through the chill on his skin. “How long was I gone?”  
  
“Approximately seven hours.”  
  
“You’re kidding me,” York muttered. “It’s almost midnight?”  
  
Delta wasn’t the one to answer him. Through the floorboards, they could hear an ancient organ wheezing to life, playing a familiar carol, and soon a choir of parishioners was singing the words. It brought a warmth to York’s heart, and he couldn’t help the smile spreading across his face. “The church is in use tonight,” Delta announced, sounding miffed at being made redundant. “I assume that this is a religious celebration.”  
  
“Dee, it’s  _Christmas_.” York had never had such perfect timing before.  
  
“I also assume,” Delta continued as if he hadn’t heard, “that you had an illogical justification for your excursion tonight.”  
  
“A completely logical  _reason_ ,” York corrected him. He was starting to feel back to his normal self, now that Delta was jibing him. “Here,” he said, taking off his bag and handing it over to Delta. “I didn’t exactly have time to gift-wrap it, but – it’s something.”  
  
In the muted light thrown off by the space heater, York could see Delta opening the flap of his bag, and then the expression on his face as he realized what was inside. His eyes were wide, his mouth in a slight O, as he reached in and drew out the latest model of slate PC. “This is…” he started weakly, but York watched as he lost his train of thought, pulling out accessory after accessory. Each muted squeak of joy was another sign to York that he’d gotten something right for a change. “How – how did you acquire all this?” he asked, his voice quavering.  
  
“I’d rather not say,” York said, knowing his lopsided smile would only make Delta keep asking.  
  
“Why?” He’d finally pulled out all his toys. They lay scattered around him, and Delta couldn’t keep from running his fingers over them gently, as if he was trying to make sure that they were still real.  
  
“It would spoil the surprise,” York joked, as if it was obvious. Delta’s wide-eyed look of surprise was wearing off, though, and was gradually being replaced by a questioning glare. York sighed. “If you really must know, it involved a feather boa, a pocket dictionary, two empty glass bottles, and a mint-condition first-edition copy of  _Romance of the Lust_.” He kept a straight face as Delta raised an eyebrow. “Oh, and I broke all my picks.”  
  
Delta just let out a short, soft laugh, and York savored the sound and the open look of his face – it wasn’t often that he’d let his guard down like that. “Typical,” he said eventually, unable to keep a smile out of his voice.  
  
“What? I wanted to get you something special.” He reached up a hand to touch Delta’s face. “And it looks like it was worth every single pick I lost.”  
  
“Though that shows an amusing lack of aptitude,” Delta teased, “that was not what I found humorous.” He reached back, and suddenly York was being presented with a small package, wrapped with the precision of origami.  
  
“You – you didn’t.” He had, apparently, because he nudged it a little closer to York, still holding it in both hands. York’s fingers trembled as he reached out to take it, and he could barely tear off the wrapping. Inside was a full set of lock-picks, organized by size and function, alphabetized by manufacturer’s name. “I can’t believe – how did you –“ he stuttered, unable to put together a coherent question. He swallowed, opening the case to finger a few. They were cold, but finely crafted; he picked one up experimentally and it felt like an extension of his hand. “Where did you find these?”  
  
“You were not the only one to roam this city alone,” he said mysteriously.  
  
York watched the warm light from the space heater glint off of the metal in his hand. “What did you have to do to get them?”  
  
Delta seemed more hesitant this time. “Having no legal tender,” he said slowly, “I bartered the only thing of substantial value I owned.”  
  
York had known something had been off when he’d seen him on the street corner, and now he could put the pieces together: it was the absence of Delta’s bag on his shoulder, which he used to carry his slate everywhere. “You traded your slate – for these?” The pick suddenly felt much weightier.  
  
“It seems only appropriate, considering the difficulties you encountered in procuring these for me,” Delta replied softly.  
  
York let out his own laugh this time, echoing Delta. “Typical,” he agreed. “It’s the gift of the magi.”  
  
“Pardon?”  
  
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll explain later.” He put the pick back in its case, admiring his gift more now that he knew how much it had cost. “I didn’t think you’d do anything for Christmas,” he murmured. It was surprising that Delta would know about a religious holiday like this, but York appreciated the effort – more than he could put into words.  
  
“Basic research indicated a few… traditions that would take place on this day, one of them being the exchange of gifts.” He seemed to be hiding a smile in his voice.  
  
York looked up from his gift to see Delta threading a wreath through his fluffy hair. The light in the room was dim, but by the smell, he thought he could tell what it was. “Is that…” he breathed.  
  
“ _Viscum album_ ,” Delta said. The branches, with their glossy leaves and little white berries, only brought out the green in his eyes and the blond in his hair.  
  
“Bless you,” York said. “Looks like mistletoe.”  
  
Delta just stared up at him, looking adorably irritated. “It  _is_  mistletoe.”  
  
York grinned. “You do know the tradition with mistletoe, right?”  
  
“Absolutely,” Delta confirmed.  
  
“Excellent.” And at a swell in the music from below, York grabbed the sides of Delta’s face and drew him in for a kiss, hot but chaste. After what felt like a few heartbeats but was probably more like a few choruses, he pulled away, half-breathless, heart overflowing with Christmas cheer. Though he knew it wouldn’t mean anything to him, he couldn’t stop the words from falling from his lips: “Merry Christmas, Delta.”  
  
Delta just pressed their foreheads together, nose nuzzling against his. “Merry Christmas, York.”


	2. What Sarah Said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His wife had told him, once, what love was. He never thought he’d have to show it twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> backstory about york's wife holds. everything else is an au of an au. holy shit

It was like Delta was a ticking time bomb.  
  
Some people were just like that, York supposed. A lifetime ago, Sarah had been the same way. She’d warned him, tried to scare him off when he was down on his knees with a ring in his hand and a lump in his throat, and he’d laughed and told her there was no way he could stop loving her, and she’d cried when she hugged him and said yes.  
  
Early-onset Huntington’s disease hadn’t been anything either of them had asked for. It was no one’s fault. He couldn’t find it in himself to blame her, and he only loved her more when she tripped over her own feet and spilled all over the stove when she cooked, only cared for her harder when her coordination deteriorated to the point where she was in a wheelchair, only treated her kinder when she slowly lost the ability to chew or swallow or speak.  
  
The first time she had been in the hospital, he’d held her hand and she’d smiled at him, calling him pet names like ‘stupid’ and ‘silly’ and ‘idiot’ for doting on her when she was so needy. She had still been beautiful then, dark brown hair and creamy skin and eyes that sparkled even in the dingy fluorescent light of the hospital. He never forgot what she told him that day. “I think this is true love,” she had said in a moment of rare reflection, her grip making their wedding rings dig into their hands. He’d asked her how she knew, and her smile had turned introspective and sad, and she’d said, clearly, without a slur, “Love is watching someone die.”  
  
They were only thirty-five when she passed away on a dreary day in early February. He had held her wasted, twisted hand as she breathed her last. Afterwards, he’d taken the rings from her finger and put them on his necklace. He’d worn them next to his heart until they’d asked him to enlist again.  
  
\--  
  
Now it was dogtags that were hanging under his Freelancer turtleneck, but they felt heavy on his chest these days. He was getting old, and he felt even older, dragging his tired body around from hovel to hovel, on the run from the law and the retribution that waited for them if a Recovery force caught them. They were both living on borrowed time.  
  
York hadn’t celebrated Valentine’s Day in years. It was too close to Sarah’s day; just thinking about the month hurt him somewhere near his heart. And Delta never took much notice of commonly-celebrated holidays. But in their first year on the run, Delta unexpectedly graphed a cardioid on his slate computer, which led to some rather inventive positional gymnastics and then some rather disheveled and sweaty limbs as they slumped together on one of their cots. Even so, the bottom of York’s stomach dropped out when Delta suddenly announced, “There is something I wish to discuss with you.”  
  
“Oh no you don’t.” York tried to keep his tone light, but if he was truthful with himself, the only reason he was leaning over to kiss Delta was to shut him up.  
  
But Delta snapped away, turning his head almost as soon as York’s lips were on his. “Stephen,” he said sharply. Hearing his given name cut through all of York’s defenses and made him visibly cringe; it stung even more than usual, given the circumstances, and Delta only used it when things were most important. “There is something I wish to discuss with you.”  
  
And Delta rarely repeated himself. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“I have been doing additional research into the methodology of Project Alpha,” he announced. “I have scattered memories, but putting them into any sort of context requires additional background information that I do not currently possess. However…” York looked over to him; the adam’s apple in his throat worked as he swallowed hard, and he was biting his lip, a pointed tooth in the groove of his scar.  
  
“I know that look.” York held him closer. The further confirmation was when Delta drew his knees to his chest and hugged them close; he always made himself small when he was flooded with negative thoughts.  
  
“There were injections,” he said, his lips barely moving. “Cold, large, and often. Some of them were amphetamines. Some of them were hallucinogens. And some of them – ” he shivered in York’s hold – “were worse. They used our bodies for every conceivable reason, designed us for a specific purpose, and left a self-destruct mechanism to cover their work.”  
  
“So what, are you saying that they poisoned you?” York let out a perverse laugh; he always resorted to black humor in the face of uncomfortable news. “You? You’re the smartest person I know. If anyone can come up with an antidote, it’s you.”  
  
Delta, though, wasn’t so lighthearted; he shook his head slowly, blond curls tossing around his face. “They inoculated us with several iterations of both naturally-occurring and lab-produced lentiviruses.”  
  
York didn’t understand; he needed a Delta-to-English dictionary for situations like these. “What does that mean?” he asked, voice hushed.  
  
Delta’s tone was even as always. “All of the Greek-lettered agents, myself included, have tested positive for human immunodeficiency virus.”  
  
It hit him like a punch to the gut. “Oh my God.” And then again, “Oh my God.” Were there no depths of depravity too low for the Project Alpha scientists? “You’re HIV-positive?”  
  
“Yes,” Delta confirmed.  
  
“Oh my God.” His head was reeling. “You know how many times we – what we just – Derek, you  _can’t_ …”  
  
“I found this information last night,” he said quietly. “The assumption that I was uninfected was reasonable, considering my sexual history.”  
  
York heard what Delta said in the back of his mind, but he was mostly trying not to have a panic attack. He took his arm back from around his shoulders, burying his forehead in his palms. “How long ago was this?”  
  
“These injections took place around six years ago.”  
  
Bad news and worse news. “Please say I’m not at risk.”  
  
“You are,” Delta told him. “The risk for a single encounter would have been miniscule, but taking into account the frequency of occurrence, the likelihood of infection hovers anywhere between…” He concentrated on his fingertips, where he was doing some sort of hurried math. “Thirty-five to seventy percent. My calculations may not be entirely correct, because I can hardly be bothered to count –”  
  
“Yes, I get it, we’ve had a lot of unprotected sex,” York interrupted him before he could hem and haw about his errors. “How would we find out?”  
  
“There are over-the-counter tests.”  
  
“Are they accurate?”  
  
“I have no information on that.” He paused for a minute; the room was filled with quiet tension. “I need a blood test to determine the advance of the virus. Past a certain threshold, my correct diagnosis would be auto-immune deficiency syndrome.”  
  
“AIDS,” York breathed. Saying it made it real, and real was terrifying. Terrifying, though, he could deal with, and a nervous laugh cut the silence they’d been hiding in. “I’ve never hijacked a hospital before, but I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”  
  
He looked back at Delta. His green eyes were shining wet, but a smile was playing at the corner of his mouth. “Although you seem eager enough, I wish to remind you that you need feel no obligation to help me.”  
  
“Are you kidding me?” He leaned over to capture his lips in a kiss, teeth scraping against the scar in his lip. “I’m gonna do everything I can to make sure you beat this.”  
  
\--  
  
The hospital run went well enough, but actually doing the tests turned out to be an adventure unto itself. York could man up to just about anything, but when Delta put his arm in a tourniquet and jabbed a needle in the inside of his elbow, he nearly puked. Delta, of course, took his own blood, holding off the belt around his bicep with his teeth and groaning against the leather in his mouth while he was getting his sample.  
  
“What now?” York asked him, binding off his stab wound.  
  
Delta swished the contents of the two vials as he held them to the light. “Science.”  
  
Delta messed with York’s blood for the rest of the day, pipetting it into trays and testing each sample one by one. York was doing all the reading he could on Delta’s slate, his vision permitting, but somehow he dozed off. When he felt Delta’s hand on his shoulder, he jerked awake. “Jesus, Dee, don’t  _do_  that,” he complained.  
  
“Your results are negative,” Delta informed him.  
  
“Negative? Oh thank God.” It was incredibly selfish to be thinking this way, but at least one of them was still clean. “What about you?”  
  
“My T-cell count is hovering around 350 parts per microliter.”  
  
“200 is AIDS, right?” Delta nodded. “Are you gonna need medication, or do you just wanna wing it?”  
  
“I remain asymptomatic.” He bit his lip as he thought. “The sheer volume of medication I would require, in addition to the fact that we are still fugitives, suggests that it would be easier to ignore antriretroviral therapy.”  
  
“I didn’t ask what was easier,” York pointed out. “I asked what you wanted.”  
  
“I would prefer to forgo treatment.” He shoved York over on their cot, laying himself down in the space where York had been, fitting perfectly in York’s arms. “It is highly probable that most strains I have are treatment-resistant anyhow.”  
  
York held him close, breathing in the soft scent of his hair, listening for his heartbeat. He was small – too small, skinny from being on the run, feeling almost frail in his arms. “How could they do this to you?” he asked, voice choked with emotion. “You should be graduating from college and getting a job and looking forward to sixty years in the workforce, and instead you get –”  
  
“You,” Delta cut him off, kissing him hard on the mouth and rolling over him to straddle his waist.  
  
They hadn’t used a condom in a long time, but they hadn’t forgotten how, and it stopped them from arguing or bickering or crying or despairing, at least for a little while.  
  
\--  
  
“You do realize,” Delta said nearly three years later, lying awkwardly on a cot and wrapped up in a blanket, “that there is no single identity for the man presumed to be Saint Valentine?”  
  
York looked to him and smiled. Delta’s voice was weak, but he could still manage to tease when he wanted to. “You got that whole sentence out without coughing once,” York pointed out.  
  
“This fact alone –” he doubled over beneath his blanket, coughs wracking his body – “does not signal my recovery.”  
  
He’d had this cough for a while now, but it hadn’t been this debilitating until just recently. York doted on him, used a spare rag to wipe the blood from the corner of his mouth, but when he put his palm to Delta’s forehead, he could feel the skin burning under his hand. “How long have you had this fever?”  
  
Delta coughed again, weaker this time. His frame was skeletal, taking up so little room in his cot; his cheeks were hollow, his eyes sunk in, his perfect pale skin now ashen and scarred with reddish-purple blots. “Only a few days,” he managed to choke out.  
  
“Only a few –!” York spluttered. “You need to  _tell_  me these things, Dee, how else am I going to take care of you?” He shook two pills into his hand, shoved one into Delta’s mouth, and held up a glass of water to his lips. “Paracetamol. Swallow.”  
  
At least Delta followed directions before he snarked back, taking down the first pill and then the second, his rattling breaths making York fear for his safety. “This will be ineffective,” Delta told him, voice surprisingly gentle under the hoarseness of his raw throat.  
  
“No – no, Dee – it’ll bring down the fever and then…” He took the blood-stained rag, dipped the corner of it in the water, used it to mop the sweat from Delta’s forehead. “I know the cough won’t go away, but it’ll get better, it won’t hurt as much…”  
  
“York.” Delta’s green eyes were still bright in his face, disarmingly beautiful even after all this time, catching him off his guard. “Denial does not become you.”  
  
“I’m not in denial,” he said, too quickly. “I’m just optimistic. You’re stronger than this, I know you are, you’ll be back on your feet and we can move on…”  
  
“I fail to understand –” a weak cough, a bubble of blood at the corner of his mouth – “what practical incentive there is for you to tend to me.”  
  
“We’re not animals, Dee. We don’t just limp away from the herd and lick our wounds and curl into ourselves to die alone.”  
  
“Everyone dies alone.” The statement was so chilling, so factual.  
  
“Not you,” York countered. “I’m not leaving your side. I will feed you and give you pills and watch you while you sleep.”  
  
“Hospice care.” Somehow, even in his sickness, Delta could manage a wry curl to his lip. “Did it ever occur to you that you might be disregarding my wishes?”  
  
York actually managed a chuckle. “You can’t send me away that easily. I love you.”  
  
“And that necessitates drawing out this process?” A particularly violent coughing fit had him raised up onto an elbow hacking into his fist. It was no trouble at all for York to slide in the space he’d vacated. “Ah, I forgot,” Delta said as he leaned back into York’s chest. “It’s just what makes us human, right?”  
  
“Dee, if you think you can scare me off by coughing up a little blood, you are sadly mistaken.” He stroked Delta’s marred cheek. “I was with Sarah. And damn it, I’m going to be with you.”  
  
“So it is because of love?”  
  
“I know Valentine’s Day is coming up, Dee. I just – I know you don’t set much store in it, but I want to show you just how goddamn much I love you. I love you enough to do this,” he choked out, voice growing ragged and harsh, “I love you enough to hold you and make sure you’re not in pain and wipe away the blood from your mouth… I love you enough to watch you die. You deserve this much from me.”  
  
“Palliative care will not –” he shuddered in York’s hold, a wet wheeze stuck in his throat – “make this process any easier. Let me go. I c-” another terrible cough making him stutter – “can manage to die on my own.”  
  
“Damn it, Dee, I am not going to just sit here and  _let_  you die!” His throat was raw, he realized, and that was when he cracked. The tears spilled out of his eyes, hot and wet and searing his scars, falling into Delta’s hair. He blinked angrily against them, drawing Delta’s body closer to him. He was small as a child in his arms, his hands folded on York’s chest, head on his shoulder, knees spilling over his lap. He was warm, too warm, burning up at the touch and yet shivering when the blanket fell away from him. “You can fight this,” he whispered into Delta’s ear as the fever-tremors wracked his bones. “I know you can, you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, you have the fortitude to get through this…”  
  
“I told you,” Delta said through chattering teeth, “your rejection of the current state of affairs is doing both of us more harm than good.”  
  
“If I don’t lie to myself right now I’m gonna lose it,” York admitted, burying his face in Delta’s hair. It didn’t smell as sweet as it used to, but it was still soft and ticklish in his scars. “God, what am I gonna do without you…”  
  
“Most likely, you will get yourself shot.” York knew the sound tearing out of Delta’s throat was supposed to be a laugh, but it came out as a terrible rasp. “And no one will be able to pull the bullets out of your lungs…”  
  
“Hey.” He used the rag to wipe at Delta’s mouth again; there was almost no clean space left on it. “I don’t care if you’re dying, I thought we agreed we wouldn’t mention that time I almost died because I got into a dick-swinging contest with Tex.”  
  
“Without me, there will be no one to keep your pride in check.” Delta’s feeble smile still contained a hint of his old mischievousness, and for a moment, York could almost pretend that the two of them were having a normal conversation.  
  
But then Delta jerked with a cough, and York was jerked back to reality. “I won’t have any pride if you’re gone,” he said gently.  
  
“You will continue to live, as you always have.” His fingers curled a little against York’s chest. “Although I do not believe that now is a prudent time to tell you that there is an actual broken heart syndrome that manifests in cardiac arrhythmia and possible myocardial infarction.”  
  
“You just told me anyway.” He smiled through his tears, leaning down to kiss Delta on the forehead. “I know there’s not much we can do about this… but it’s only a few days until the fourteenth, and I wanted to celebrate one last…”  
  
“The day means nothing to me,” Delta said, his voice weak. “I will love you regardless.”  
  
His breathing evened out, though it still sounded wet and broken. When York looked down, his eyes were closed. Asleep, or unconscious, or perhaps just too tired to talk. All York could think to do was hold him closer, leave little kisses in his hair, whisper “I love you” until he was too hoarse to talk. And so he did, showering Delta with all the love he could give, counting each rattling breath, listening as they slowed.  
  
Delta’s hands slipped down his chest, rag-doll limp. It wasn’t until the room fell completely silent that York realized just how accustomed he’d become to hearing Delta’s breathing next to him. And though he knew it wouldn’t bring him back, he held Delta’s tiny frame as close as he could and sobbed.


	3. Paper Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> York and Delta celebrate a year of being away from Project Freelancer in high style: with a B&E.

It started the minute York picked the back door; Delta slipped him one of those mischievous smiles of his, and it was pretty much game over. He had to make sure, had to double-check, quadruple-check, check for the thousandth time that those lips felt as plush as they looked, and York pinned him to the door as soon as it shut behind them. Delta didn’t give in, didn’t fight it, but played along in all the right ways, not afraid to use his teeth to get what he wanted.  
  
He didn’t know where to put his hands, whether he should hold Delta’s legs around his waist or pin his wrists above his head, but Delta didn’t seem to give him a choice. Before York knew it, one of his hands was cupping Delta’s ass, holding his partner to him so close he didn’t know how either of them could breathe. The other should have been holding Delta’s hand against the wall, but it was more like Delta was dominating him; with his fingers woven between York’s, his grip was so tight that his fingernails were leaving little half-moons in the back of York’s hand. The tension was delicious, and York was torn between two desires: either have this moment go on forever, or get to the obviously mind-blowing sex already.  
  
The ability to make a decision was stripped away from him when Delta licked at the spot on his neck just below his ears, and his throat closed into an shamelessly high whimper, his knees sagging. Damn that kid and his uncanny ability to catalogue every single one of his erogenous zones – yes, including that one on the inside of his wrist that he was just barely brushing with his thumb, damn him to hell. It wouldn’t be too long before this moment of weakness got exploited, and sure enough, Delta pushed back on him, kissing him blindly, unwilling to let go.  
  
Their inertia caught York off-balance, and he stumbled backwards for a few moments, taking Delta with him. It was so dizzying just being able to do this with him, let alone the zeal with which Delta was participating – and that wasn’t even taking into account the time and place. This was their third break-and-enter of the month, but more importantly, it had now been a year since they had been on the run. Once Delta gave him a chance to come up for air, he asked him, “You do know what today is, right?”  
  
“Yes,” Delta said, looking at him like his question was stupid and he was stupid for having asked it. “Today is the eighth of April.”  
  
York let out an exasperated sigh, a wry smile creeping across his face. “Good enough for me,” he murmured against Delta’s throat, and as a follow-up he kissed his way across a taut cord of muscle in his neck.  
  
“It is also my –” he groaned as he pushed York back against one of the kitchen counters – “calculation that we have been –” how could he talk, York couldn’t even  _concentrate_  when Delta’s hands were doing that – “fugitives from Project Freelancer for one year.”  
  
“Mm, so it’s our anniversary,” York purred into Delta’s hair.  
  
“A concept that  _nnnnngh_  –” yeah, that was a surefire way to shut him up, kiss him until he was moaning beneath him – “pleases me as much as it seems to please you.” For emphasis, he shifted his hips against York’s.  
  
It was all York could do to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head. “You planned this, didn’t you?” He didn’t give him a chance to answer – if Delta started talking again, he wouldn’t stop, and then they’d lose this delicious tension.  
  
And so Delta’s comeback didn’t come until roughly eight minutes and four seconds later, after an embarrassingly hasty encounter. “I most certainly did not  _plan_  this,” he said, sounding halfway indignant under the breathiness in his tone.  
  
“Still pretty lucky, isn’t it?” York panted out, forehead nestled in the crook between neck and shoulder.  
  
Delta let out a hum that, in anyone else, would have come out as a gut-busting laugh. Of course he didn’t believe in luck – he was too logical for that. “This is merely one of those circumstances that people unfamiliar with the law of large numbers like to call ‘coincidence’,” he murmured.  
  
“Mm, talk sexy to me,” York teased. “You know how I like them big words.”  
  
“As I, too, find your purposeful grammar mistakes endearing.” He stuck his nose in York’s ear as he kissed his scar gently, then slapped his side. “Up.”  
  
“Wanna stay put,” he grumbled, pinning Delta to the counter.  
  
Delta shoved him back playfully. “Up,” he repeated. “We must retrieve this information.”  
  
York finally acquiesced. He was surprised to find that his shirt had ended up in the kitchen sink. “How long did you say we had to do this?” he asked, voice muffled by cloth as he redressed.  
  
“This particular homeowner will be absent for a week.” When York looked to his partner, there was a small twinkle of mischievousness in his green eyes.  
  
“I think,” he said heavily, tongue caught in his throat, “I might love you.”  
  
“Sentiment reciprocated.” Delta smiled. “Shall we?”  
  
“Oh, yes.” Very yes. They definitely would – against any solid surface they could find.  
  
The intel itself was easy enough to find, but both of them procrastinated on cracking the safe. Part of it was having a cushy place to sleep and a hot shower to look forward to every day. Another part was a basic feeling of safety and security, something York had long since abandoned as a casualty to his particular lifestyle.  
  
Mostly, though, it was that he could have his partner any way he wanted. They made a sort of game out of it, and Delta, with his analytical nature, began leaving notes around the house. It was never long until York found one of them, and then the rather inventive game of sardines could go into another round.  
  
Of course, as things usually happened with the two of them, they cut it rather close with their timetables. Delta insisted that he had not miscalculated, that the homeowner had changed his itinerary, but York gave him the benefit of the doubt – both of them had been more than a little distracted this week. The hint of danger was just the cherry on top of the absolutely scrumptious sundae that their glorious week had been, and they were able to shrug it off easily enough.  
  
“Wish we could stick around, though,” York admitted as Delta revved up their Warthog. “I’d just love to see the look on his face.”  
  
“One of confusion,” Delta surmised. “You may be able to gain the same effect by studying your own reflection when I try to explain simple concepts to you.”  
  
“Ooh, zing!”  
  
\--  
  
The Councillor returned from his vacation – several years’ worth of accrued paid leave – to find that his house had been broken into. Everything was in general disarray, and when he checked his valuables storage, he found that everything was missing.  
  
The most alarming thing, though, was the series of Post-Its littered everywhere, each in the shape of a yellow star and reading only [‘HERE’](http://roosterteeth.com/members/journal/entry.php?id=2506983).


	4. The Law Won

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delta misses the point. Again. Good thing York loves him in all his obliviousness.

“I love you, you know,” York said offhandedly as he cleaned his lock-picking kit.  
  
“Yes, I know.” To his credit, Delta only sounded mildly exasperated. This was the third time his slate had crashed today, and though the sighs were subtle, York could tell his partner longed to throw it across the room and watch it smash against the wall.  
  
Might as well take it away from him before that happened. York came up behind him to get the slate out of his hands, and even though Delta tried to tug it back, York was eventually able to set it down at the other end of the table. To keep Delta from reaching out for it, he gently covered Delta’s hand on the tabletop, curling his fingertips into Delta’s palm and scratching at the paint peeling from the surface of the reclaimed door. Delta’s frustration was still evident, though, and so York held him close, snaking an arm around his waist and nuzzling his nose into Delta’s neck. “So, I was thinking…” he purred suggestively into Delta’s ear, his breath ruffling Delta’s blond curls.  
  
“A novel pastime for you,” Delta commented drily. “Are you sure there will be no resulting brain damage?”  
  
“Shut up,” York said good-naturedly, leaving a lingering kiss just under Delta’s earlobe. “Anyway, I was wondering. What do you think about changing your name?”  
  
Delta shrugged away from York’s mouth, betraying his irritation. “We acquired new identities not six weeks ago. Our passports have not yet been blacklisted. There is no need for me to manufacture another alias at this time.”  
  
“Not like that,” York sighed. Leave it to Delta to misunderstand him at every opportunity. Sometimes he forgot just how literal-minded the kid could be. “I’m talking about changing your legal name.”  
  
Delta pulled far enough away that York could see how narrowed his eyes were. “By what means?”  
  
Well, this wasn’t exactly how he’d planned it. Then again, nothing in their relationship went according to plan, so he might as well roll with it. A deep breath, and he finally let it out. “Marry me, Dee.”  
  
If he hadn’t been so emotionally invested in the answer, York would have found Delta’s reaction hilarious – that open-mouthed gape, his furious blinking. Finally he said one word, one three-letter word: “Why?”  
  
Not exactly the response he’d been hoping for. “Well, because…” He found himself at a loss for words, and not just because he was looking into those beautiful green eyes. “I love you.”  
  
“I reciprocate the sentiment,” Delta snapped, “but there is no need to use a contract as proof of this.”  
  
“But if we did,” York pointed out quietly, trying to pull Delta in close to him again, “there would be benefits that we don’t have now, right?”  
  
“I fail to see how registering with the government will benefit either of us.” Delta brought up his free hand – so he had a whole list of reasons why this wouldn’t happen. Great. York was going to get lectured at. “Firstly, we are currently living, as you say, ‘off the grid’. Taxes mean nothing for a tax unit whose income stream is illegal. Secondly, there is no conceivable scenario where either of us would be hospitalized for any reason.”  
  
York had to interrupt him. “We face death out here every day, so don’t tell me we’re never going to get injured.”  
  
Delta just continued as if York hadn’t interjected. “We have adequate supplies to ensure our health. Even under the extreme circumstance that there would be something so grave as to require additional assistance, we would not be able to give our legal names to hospital staff, which makes systematized medical care impossible.”  
  
“Okay, but what about –”  
  
“We have no employer, so we would receive no spousal incentives.” Delta continued to tick off items even as he was running out of fingers to count them on. “We are nomads, so zoning laws have no impact on our housing situation. We are not consumers,” and York heard a silent, sarcastic  _thanks to you_  in gratitude for his five-finger discount, “you have no estate, and death benefits are moot. We cannot file for government benefits because we are trying to remain incognito.”  
  
“Did you think I’d forgotten we were on the run?” Why did Delta always have to turn something simple into a decision matrix?  
  
Once again, Delta ignored his outburst. “The only means by which we would benefit from such an arrangement would be the marital communications privileges, jail visitations, or adoption.” He blinked a few times, finally registering that he was actually preaching to someone else in the room. “I was not aware you wanted children.”  
  
“I don’t,” York grumbled. Delta was more than enough of a handful, and York didn’t want to think on their age difference for any longer than he had to.  
  
“And while having a legal basis to not incriminate each other would be of some use, ultimately there would be enough evidence to convict us without us testifying against each other. As for jail visitations,” and Delta’s lips quirked up just that little bit, “if you should be incarcerated, I fully intend on being your cell mate.”  
  
“Touching,” York said sarcastically. He let his head drop down onto Delta’s shoulder. “So you won’t do it because you love me, and you don’t want it to be legal.”  
  
“What names do you suggest we use for the certificate?” Delta pointed out.  
  
“Our real names.” It took a second for it to sink in. “Oh. We can’t do that, can we.”  
  
“Your name is being tracked across the security systems of the European Union and the United States, and the extradition order is rather stringent.” Delta, though, for all he was supposed to be chastising York, looked rather impressed. “I, on the other hand, no longer exist. I was legally declared dead years ago.”  
  
“So even if you wanted to, we couldn’t.” York let go of Delta’s hand and stalked back to where his lock-picking kit was lying across his cot. “That’s – that’s fine. Forget I said anything.”  
  
Delta didn’t seem to want to drop it, though. “I am categorizing your current emotion as frustration.”  
  
York longed to snap back sarcastically, but it just wasn’t worth it. “I obviously asked you at a bad time,” he realized. “I won’t bother you about it again.”  
  
“Have I done something wrong?” Delta wasn’t good with social protocol, but at least he tried to acknowledge when he goofed.  
  
“I know it wasn’t romantic or clichéd, but – honestly, I thought you would understand.” York could still feel the weight of a phantom wedding ring on his left hand, a groove that the pad of his thumb instinctively sought out just like a tongue might poke at the gap a missing tooth left behind.  
  
Delta awkwardly scooted his kitchen chair to York’s cot, just close enough that he could grab York’s left hand and hold it between his palms. “My conclusion is that you wish to be married again in order to ensure that our bond is as strong as the one you once had. Is this correct?”  
  
Well, he certainly had a way of getting right to the point. York appreciated, at least, that Delta had refrained from actually saying Sarah’s name. “It sounds stupid when you say it like that.”  
  
“I find it logical.” Delta’s green eyes were cool and soothing. “However, I do not wish to intrude on an institution you have shared with someone else.”  
  
“You wouldn’t be intruding,” York reassured him. “What we have is different.”  
  
“And so I find the label of common-law marriage to be inappropriate at best,” Delta concluded.  
  
When he put it that way, York could maybe even agree with him. What he and Delta had went, in a way, deeper than any relationship he’d ever had with anyone else. Delta had become more than just his partner – he was an extension of himself, his left side, his eyes, his better half in every sense of the phrase. “I’m sorry I brought it up,” he blurted out, and he was surprised to find that he meant it sincerely. “It’s just that I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently.”  
  
“Psychology studies suggest that at certain milestones, the individual tends to ruminate on what he has accomplished and what he has left to achieve.”  
  
“What do you mean, certain –” Now it was York’s turn to gape at Delta. “What day is today?”  
  
“The twenty-fourth of June.”  
  
“And you didn’t tell me!” York let out a hysterical laugh at the absurdity of it. “It’s my birthday and you didn’t even tell me.”  
  
Delta shrugged almost imperceptibly. “A birthday, in itself, is more an achievement for the one giving birth than it is for the one being born.”  
  
“Yeah, well, that doesn’t stop me from being one year older.” York could almost feel his joints creaking now that he was directly thinking about his age.  
  
“You have one more year of life experience,” Delta corrected him.  
  
“Y’know, if you really want this to be a birthday for me,” he murmured, yanking Delta closer and making his partner stumble into his lap, “shouldn’t I get anything I want?”  
  
Delta cuddled closer to him easily enough, throwing his arms around York’s shoulders. “Within the realms of physical and logical possibility, yes.”  
  
“So we just exhausted the logical,” York thought out loud, wrapping one of Delta’s curls around his finger and twirling it over and over. “What about the physical?”  
  
“There is a series of experiments we might run whereby – I cannot finish my sentence if you continue to assault me like this,” Delta panted out.  
  
“Oh, too bad,” York teased him, running his tongue over the shell of Delta’s ear again. “Mm, happy birthday to me. When do I get to unwrap my present?”  
  
All afternoon, apparently, if the next few hours were any indication.


End file.
